Echoes Of The Past
by Venilia
Summary: AU - F!Hawke/OC - If you had the power to change the past, would you do it? Fayne Hawke fell in love with the wrong man, or at least that's what it seems. She forces the strong, excruciating memories of her past away, while having to deal with a future that is anything but peaceful. During what she believes to be a new life, she finds that her past is not entirely buried. Please R
1. Prologue

******This is my first attempt to write a fic. Honestly, there's a load of ideas swirling in my mind for this story. It will be AU for the most part and will introduce some original characters that are the product of my wacky imagination. I'm trying to take a different approach, so it's not a retelling of the game. I don't know if you like this idea or not, but please let me know because your feedback means a lot to me! Feel free to share your thoughts and criticize everything you see fit.**

******Thank you for reading :)**

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**Prologue**

**Outskirts of Lothering**

**9:27 Dragon**

A faint sunlight slashed through the tall, giant trees of the woods. The breeze was warm and the air was filled with the scent of herbs, earth and exotic, venomous plants.

A familiar, hot breath upon Fayne's cheek made her skin tingle just a little and the soft, husky voice of Aaron Coste resonated in her ear.

"You're beautiful, Fay. Just... beautiful." He planted soft kisses across her flushed, warm cheeks then moved to the corner of her lips, lusciously finishing his trip in her opened mouth waiting to be filled with the silky, wet touch of his lips.

Fayne - or Fay, as Aaron liked to call her - was a thin, petite and agile rogue - a deadly assassin. She was trained to become an assassin in the exotic and full of intrigue nation of Antiva - where she lived there for a year. She had a long, blond, pale hair, matching her fair skin. Her eyes were a vivid, iridescent pale green. She was dressed in beige leggings and a white, thin chemise, making it possible to see her shaped curves.

Aaron was a tall, slender fereldan young man with blue eyes so dark that they almost looked purple. He had black hair and a mysterious, handsome countenance. His voice was husky and recondite, making him fearful. He was a warrior - fearless and ruthless in his battles. He was a truly dangerous man and Fay knew that. Fayne was sure that there was some underlying darkness in him. But in truth, he was without a doubt deviously alluring. His mother's whereabouts were unknown, as well as her identity. His father, however, was a guardsman, always encouraging his son to become a templar.

And the thought of Aaron become a templar filled Fayne with a sharp, bone-freezing fear. He didn't know that she had mages in her family and in truth she didn't even knew how to tell him that. They've met a year and half ago, during a festival in Lothering. He asked her to dance and her heart almost stopped when she saw this arresting, handsome warrior stretching his hand for her. The attraction was immediate.

"We need to go back to the village," Fayne remembered between kisses. She could hardly keep her voice steady and her heartbeat was accelerating with every graze of his lips along her fair, sensitive skin.

Aaron let out a low groan of disapproval. "Why? We're just fine in here," he countered when he drew back from her mouth.

His glare pierced deep into her soul, shaking the very foundations of her body. If it wasn't for his probing eyes that were inevitably paralyzing her, she would have thanked the Maker from being lying on a blanket, for if she was on her feet she would quickly swoon at his feet.

"Why do have to be such a teaser?" Fayne asked with an eye-roll, realizing too lately he wouldn't give up on her that easily. His hand was gently stroking her sides. This was not the first time he had the pleasure to explore her body as if it was a sacred place, but his touch always made her spineless.

"You're the one teasing me. You're the one with a beautiful... firm... toned body," he muttered between soft kisses, while his hand caressed her sides. When he pulled back from her lips, he stared back at her and saw her almost white hair unkempt under her head as if it was a pillow, while her eyes glimmer with anticipation. Maker, she definitely had to be the most enticing woman in the world - and she was _his_.

"Aaron," she breathed, tilting her head to the side in what he recognized to be a weak attempt to escape from his grasp. "We really need to -"

Fear gripped her heart in a beat - there was someone in the woods. Her eyes saw not too far away from where they were a shadow cloaked figure.

"There's someone else here." Fayne glanced quickly at Aaron.

His amused expression was lost. "What do you mean?"

"We're not alone." Again she tilted her head to her left side, silently pointing to where she saw the stranger.

Indeed there was a third person in the woods. Aaron was sure that he or she didn't spot them and decided to turn that into their favor. Making as less noise as possible, he rolled off her and crouched strategically behind a set of branches. Instinctively, his right hand went for his sword.

Fayne did likewise and in a blink she was too hiding behind the trees. Aaron was a skilled warrior, while she was a trained assassin, making them a dangerous combination for anyone who ever tried to cross them.

"Who do you think it is?" Aaron whispered his question, keeping his eyes fixed on the stranger. He was a male.

"I don't know. Maybe a mercenary?"

Aaron shook his head. "It doesn't look like it."

The petite rogue gave him a sideways look, toying with the hilt of her daggers. "Do you want to pay him a surprise?"

He raised his brows and there was an unintentional grin playing across his lips. He knew exactly what was swirling in her mind. In truth, she wanted to disappear into the trees, making herself invisible to him. Aaron would move through the trees and then surprise the man. At that same moment, Fayne would leap into his sight, and before the man had time to breathe, he would be trapped between them.

Aaron licked his lips when he finished playing the scene in his mind. This woman was wicked, but in a good way.

"Okay," he nodded.

Fayne clenched the hilt of her daggers, smiled playfully and disappeared into the foliage. Aaron moved swiftly through the trees, clutching his sword's pommel with his hands. The stranger came into view - he was dressed in robes. Aaron immediately recognized him as mage from the Circle He was sitting on a small boulder, chewing a piece of breath. His staff was lying on the floor next to him. _He is a fugitive_, he thought.

"Hey, you! Aaron called to him.

The mage's eyes went wide as soon as he spotted Aaron. He immediately hoisted up in an attempt to reach for his staff.

"Not so fast," rang out Fayne's sharp voice as she revealed herself from the trees, drawing forth her blades defensively.

The mage swallowed dry, noticing he was cornered by what seemed to be two agile opponents. He didn't actually knew if there were friends of foes, but being him a mage, there was only room for the latter.

Fayne kicked the staff, making it impossible for him to reach it and circled him, studying him pointedly. His warm, hazel eyes followed Fayne to where she moved and in a heartbeat she found herself looking at him curiously. He was tall, well-built and had blond hair. An earring hung from his left ear and a special twinkle danced in his eyes, intriguing the rogue.

"What's your name?" Fayne asked, warily.

"I won't give you mine until you give me yours," he snapped with what seemed to be a whisper of a grin. His sly, witty bearing just raised Fayne's interest in him.

But this only enraged Aaron, whose tone grew exasperated. "You're not in position to make jokes,_ mage_.

For a moment, Fayne was sure there was a flash of scorn in his voice that she didn't fully comprehend. She looked briefly at her lover, but his expression was very tight and close, making it impossible to be read.

Tell me your name, please." There seemed to be an underlying softness in her words.

The mage's eyes roamed over the lithe rogue. "You may call me Anders, my dear lady," he replied at last.

Fayne continued to eye him curiously, while Aaron muttered something under his breath. A voice inside her head told her to trust Anders and in the absence of any better alternatives, she did it.

"And I am Fayne," she allowed.

"It's nice to meet you, my dear lady," Anders heard himself say. Indeed, he was feeling a bit fascinated by the rogue. When she lowered her daggers her posture lost all its sharpness. Beauty surrounded her, making her too dangerous, too powerful and too damned exquisite. He considered her exotic features, but only for a moment, having Aaron's harsh bearing dragged him back from the flood of erotic thoughts. A growl came out at the top of Aaron's lungs who charged against Anders, biting his neck with his sword. Anders looked down pointedly at the sword and gulped, seeing that the feeling of the cold metal against his throat was not a pleasant one. In a blink, he could meet death. He realized now he wasn't as nearly ready to die as he thought he was.

"Don't take us for fools, mage! What are you doing in here?"

"Traveling," the mage replied warily.

"Traveling to where?"

He shrugged. "To where my feet take me."

"Don't lie to me," he warns, coldly. "You ran from the Circle. You're a fugitive."

"You escaped the Circle?" Fayne asked, unable to bite back the words. There was an underlying admiration in her question.

He smiles a little. "By my counting, this would be my sixth attempt." His hazel eyes gleamed with delight, reflecting his need to be free. Fayne couldn't help but to admire his courage.

But in contrast with her admiration, Aaron's face grew very tight. "Escaping the circle is a crime."

Fayne hovered next to her warrior. "We're letting him go. We're not templars and he's not a threat to us." Her voice was calm, even soothing in Anders' opinion, but it wasn't enough to dissuade Aaron.

"If he is a mage, then he is a threat," Aaron countered coldly. "His place is in the Circle."

Fayne undertook a tremendous effort to hold steady at his words. The statement crushed her hard and painfully and she stood perplexed unable to retaliate. Silence descended upon on her, since this was so unlike Aaron.

Anders' voice broke the silence. "You would take me as a treat just because I'm a mage?" There seemed to be as much anger in his tone as shock.

"You're putting things very lightly, mage. You are a disease among us."

Anders' jaw hung open and it wouldn't close any time soon. Fayne's eyes widened with utter horror. This was beyond her imagination, since she never pictured Aaron as mage hater, even if his father was always trying to persuade him to become a templar.

"You corrupt everything with your touch. You make your deals with your demons, bringing only death and chaos to our world. Why would you deserve freedom?" He protested bitterly.

The unfamiliar enmity in Aaron's tone was such that Fayne was sure her heart stopped beating for a long while. There was a helpless rage boiling inside her. She didn't know this man anymore. This was not the Aaron she had fallen in love - no, this was a man whose heart was tainted with an unexplainable rancor.

Then, something in Aaron's mind snapped telling him that Fayne had been strangely quiet. He turned to catch her eyes, without lowering his sword from Anders' neck. His stare made her whole limbs freeze, rooted in both fear and anger.

"Why are you so quiet? And why do you trust him? He_ is_ dangerous." His eyes were probing, demanding his answer.

Fayne did not respond in words, but being Aaron a very perspicacious man, he quickly felt her consternation.

"You disagree with me?" He intrigued, affronted.

She gulped, staring back into his almost purple eyes. "I think you're being a little too harsh," she replied in a voice that was hard to find.

"Harsh?! This man is an apostate! He needs to be punished!" In a blink, he hit Anders' face with the hilt of his sword, bringing him to his knees. He cried out in pain and Fayne's eyes flew wide when she saw a line of blood flowing down from his nose. He just struck an unarmed man!

Anders tasted the metallic tang of blood, casting Aaron a sideways glance. Aaron's inexplicable hate filled him with a suffocating grief and anger. He didn't understand why anyone would hate mages so much to the point of denying them freedom - a freedom that everyone deserves.

Fayne immediately gripped Aaron's arm. "What are you doing? That was completely unnecessary!"

"We will bring him with us and we will hand him over to the templars." Aaron pulled back his arm abruptly and moved behind Anders to tie his wrists with a piece of fabric he just ripped from his robes, clearly not waiting for Fayne's approval on this.

"Why do you care if he goes to the Circle or not?" The rogue insisted.

"I've told you already - they're a disease among us. I don't like them," he replied without looking.

When he finished tying Anders' wrists, he kicked his back, telling him to get up. And so he did, and very much to his surprise, Fayne quickly moved so that she was standing between Aaron and him.

"This is madness, Aaron." Her voice resonated with intimidation, but that was far from making him change his mind. He looked at her, curious, offended even, that she decided to defend a mage. But furious, too, that she was affronting him. This was his decision, it was his call, and he wouldn't be dissuaded by a woman. His mouth pressed into a hard line.

"You affront me?"

"No, I reason with you. Who are you to decide over someone's fate?"

"He is a mage and mages are dangerous. I don't like them. I think that's quite simple to understand, Fayne," his voice was incredibly calm, giving the amount of anger he kept inside him.

Fayne heaved a sigh and stepped aside. Anders was intently watching them. He had nearly expected her to defend him, but no actions would be seen from Fayne, since the look on her face as she stared deeply into the trees told him she wasn't going to argue with this man no more. She was angry, yes, but not strong enough to fight with him. He was doomed to the Circle, like all the previous times he escaped. No matter how many times he ran away, trouble appears always to find him. His luck had run out and he scolded himself from stopping in these woods. If he only knew what lurked in the corners of this place...

"Come," Aaron said, shoving Anders to move, while he followed behind, brandishing his sword if the mage tried anything stupid.

Fayne followed behind shortly after, her gaze lingered on the path. Her thoughts inevitably strayed to Aaron's cold, hate filled words. Who was this man?

**xxXxx**

Fayne was biting her lower lip, while her stomach twisted in knots as she watched the templars fixed the chains on Anders' wrists. To know she did nothing to stop this madness repulsed her. Aaron, however, was watching the scene with quiet amusement. Everyone in the small village of Lothering was trading whispers and looks of contempt as they saw the mage being taken away. The words apostate, dangerous and evil echoed faintly in her ear.

Anders glanced over his shoulder and his eyes caught Fayne's. His stare brought an inevitable deep sadness to her beautiful face.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed, on the brink of tears. It crushed her heart seeing a mage being taken to the prison that was the Circle, even more because she had mages in her family.

Anders gave her an almost imperceptible nod and to her surprise, there seemed to be a whisper of a smile in his face as he trailed off with the templars.

Wanting to go back to her house, she stepped back, but immediately found her arm being gripped by Aaron, holding her in place. She looked down at his grip pointedly, then back at him. His expression was too authoritative for her liking.

"We're not over," he admonished, giving her a sideways glare.

The rogue flinched. "I don't know what you're talking - "

He leaned just a little, so that he could whisper against her ear. His voice was low, but there was fury in his tone. "Don't make me angry, Fayne."

When she turned to look at him, his eyes were fervent and stormy. Their brief conversation had just ended abruptly and she knew this man did not play games. The slender rogue knew that he was referring to Anders and her urge to defend him. He clenched her teeth, ordering her to follow him.

Maker, why did this subject put him so off balance?

He dug his fingers hard on her arm and he led her to his house, careful not do draw undesired attention over them. Giving his wildness, Fayne was sure she had red marks on her arm. When they arrived at his house, he practically shoved her inside the place. Fayne gazed him in horror, dreading what was on his mind. Yes, because everything about Aaron was unpredictable and she knew very well he was not a man she wanted to cross. But nothing inspired more fear than the look he wore as he walked in measured footsteps towards her. The rogue immediately realized she had crossed the line - she _crossed_ him.

"What was that back in the woods?" He hissed through clenched teeth.

She looked down at her arm and counted four red marks.

"Look at me!" He urged, growling like a beast when she ignored his question.

She winced in utter dread and immediately complied. "What do you want me to say?" Her voice was hard to find.

"The truth," he was quick to counter. "I didn't like your tone. You affronted me and because of a bloody apostate. Why?"

"He is not an apostate. He is a human being just like us and he deserves free - "

He launched himself against her, pinning her against the wall. Now dread has really come over as she found herself caged. There was no escape. The rogue still had her pair of daggers with her, but at the moment she completely forgot about them. The discrepancy of sizes was clearly visible - he was so much taller than she. Silence descended upon her, as she digested his heartless gaze. This wasn't her Aaron anymore.

"Don't tell me that mages are like us! They are abominations!"

"Abominations? What harm have they done to you?!"

Her voice was too loud and her tone too bold for his liking. Immediately, he lifted his right hand with such ferocity that Fayne was sure he was going to hit her, but to her surprise, he hesitated. He heaved a deep sigh and clenched his fist.

"One more word about that and I promise I won't be so generous next time." He stepped back and poked his finger against her chest. "I hope this is a lesson I won't have to teach you again. I don't like fighting with you."

And neither did Fayne. In truth, he still loved her, but he was so off-balance he couldn't show love anymore, only hate. She was breathing too hard to respond, but the anger she felt towards Aaron hadn't all dissipated - it had just risen. Her gaze lingered down to her arm, then back at him. Who was he to teach her a lesson?

"Do you really want to know why I defended him?" She asked under her breath.

He stared flummoxed at her and it took all her backbone to move closer to Aaron's face. Her step resonated with intimidation. He gazed her intently and she did the same in response. The air crinkled with a concentrated, transparent rage.

"I've kept this a secret from you far too long," she head herself say.

Aaron swallowed dry, being her tone relentless, sharp and bone-freezing. He knew that within such graceful beauty there was a lithe, deadly woman. But a voice inside his head remembered him he would not be affronted by a woman and he immediately squared his shoulders.

"I am a mage's daughter. My father is an _apostate_, if you prefer that term," she hissed. But Maker knew she was not even aware of the implications of her words.

Her confession hit him so hard, he stepped back. He blinked many times and ran his hands through his dark, thick hair, shaking his head as if in denial. Fayne stood in her place, watching him and now she was _sure _that she crossed him. She couldn't read his expression, but she could hear his ragged breath as her words spun madly in his mind.

When he turned, he cast a sharp gaze over her. Before she even realized, he slapped her so hard she tumbled sidelong to the ground. She looked up at him, palming her cheek, having realize it was throbbing and blazing. Fear gripped her heart in a blink. His eyes were stormy, fervent and he was holding his breath. He crouched next to her, roughly grabbing her jaw and tugging her closer to him. His touch burned on her skin and made her feel immobilized, chained to his wrath. Maker, this man was exuding rage!

Anger flashed in his eyes blue eyes. "You lied to me." It took a long while for her to realize that there was a question in his tone.

"Fuck you." She would've continued speaking, for her hate towards him knew no limits at the moment, but the words caught her in her throat as he tugged her jaw more fiercely. His fingers were slowly descending to her fragile neck.

"You shouldn't have lied to me, Fayne. It makes me feel like a fool." He circled his long fingers around her neck and clasped her throat tight. "And I don't like the feeling of it."

Fayne could hardly draw breath. Was he going to kill her? Choke her to death? Maybe, but she wouldn't die without fighting back, even if her weapons turned out to be her words. She gave him a sideways glare. "You claim to hate mages, yet you sleep with a mage's daughter." Her voice strained and hoarse. "I'm sure that's much more painful for someone who hates mages than being played by a fool."

To Aaron's surprise he spotted a hint of impish twinkle dancing in her pale, green eyes. He clenched his teeth at these words and tugged her even closer to him.

"I will make you pay for this," he muttered.

Her body flinched, but only a little, having him pinioned her.

"I will not kill you today because that would be too easy. But someday, I will. I will join the Templar's Order - just like my father always wanted - and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you pay the price for lying to me." His voice was incredibly steady and within his words loomed an infectious, intense hate. "I'll wait for the day that you think you're happy and I will dissipate that happiness in a blink." He leaned against her ear and whispered, "I will haunt and hunt you for the rest of your life, no matter how far you run. I will make sure you regret the day you crossed me."

When he finished, Fayne couldn't speak or move. His threat made her limbs froze and her heart stopped. After a cold glare, his hand left her neck. Inherently, the rogue brought her hands to her throat and swallowed dry. Fayne knew he would keep his promise even if it would take a century to find her. He always got what he wanted and she was the very proof of it. He wanted her and he got her. She tried to fight back a cold flutter of shame - she couldn't believe she gave her innocence to this man.

"Tomorrow, you will not find me here." His voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "But I will be in your life forever. The next time you try to defend a mage, you will remember this day."

With those words, he pushed the door open and left in a swift movement.

Fayne's thoughts wrapped around themselves, leading to nowhere - her mind was utterly numb about what do. Slowly her shame turned into rage and she hit the floor in frustration.

"Fuck!"


	2. Chapter 1

**A big thanks to wickexdgames, csorciere and to those who are following this story. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. And please don't be shy and share your thoughts with me. I would love to hear your opinion about Aaron. I also want to tell you that this is no longer a Hawke/Anders story, and hopefully you'll understand why after reading this chapter. :)**

**A big thank to my beta - Kira Tamarion. I love what you did with this chapter. :)**

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**Chapter 1**

**Kirkwall**

**9:31 Dragon**

So, how is it working with Meeran?" Varric heard himself ask, while taking a sip of his drink in his favorite bar - the Hanged Man. "I heard he and your father were acquaintances."

Fayne shrugged. "He worked with Meeran for a year. It was the best disguise he could find, being a mage. Then, he decided to work alone."

"Were you very fond of your father?"

"He was my idol," she replied..

The rogue took a long sip of her ale. The drink burned her throat as it slid down to her stomach; she squeezed her eyes shut, trying hard to luxuriate the strong drink. In truth, drinking wasn't something she was used to, but in the last months she found that alcohol brought her a rarely felt sense of serenity.

A servant girl, bearing two bowls of stew, arrived next to them.

"Something on your mind, Hawke?" Varric asked, now with the two bowls of stew in front of them. The dwarf knew very well how to read someone's expression and Hawke didn't take long to figure that out. She looked up and stared at him; struggling with the answer that was caught in her throat. Of course, Aaron was the reason for her sudden feeling of extreme unease. Her mind frequently replayed her last conversation with Aaron, just as it was doing now.

She shook her head, and finally replied, "No, I'm just... dizzy from the drink, I think."

Varric laughed and shook his head. "You're a very bad liar, Hawke. Not typical for an assassin, though," he jested.

The rogue forced a smile as she reached for her spoon. While taking a bite of the stew, a thought occurred to her. Meeran told her that Varric was very good at getting information about other people's habits, whereabouts, family - you name it. And now, she definitely needed some insight into her old friend.

"I heard that you have many useful contacts throughout Thedas," Fayne said, without looking at him.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards when he realized her tone suggested that she needed his help. "What a nasty rumor about me," he mocked.

Fayne stared at him and arched a perfect brow. "Well?"

"Did you ever doubt I'd help you?"

The impatient rogue took no pains hiding her relief and amusement. "I need you to find someone for me," she explained, taking another bite of stew.

Varric did likewise and motioned the patron to fetch them another drink. "Who's the lucky fellow?"

She stirred her stew with her spoon, her thoughts inevitably straying to Aaron's face. "I need you to find a man - a templar, I think," she added, remembering every detail of their last conversation. She realized now how perfectly that kind of life suited him. After all, there is no more perfect a templar than one who hates mages as deeply as Aaron.

Varric's brows widened with surprise. "A _templar_? You're asking for a lot, Fayne. Why do you want to find him anyway?"

"Because he is looking for me," she replied as if the answer was obvious.

"You share a past?"

"Yes. Though I wish we didn't," she answered sternly.

The dwarf took a sip from his mug, and considered her words. "I'm going to need a name," he urged after a long pause.

"Aaron Coste." Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully - the name wasn't completely unfamiliar. But where has he heard it? And why?

"I've heard that name before," he admitted, a little bemused. He searched his mind for some hint about this Aaron, but his thoughts led to nowhere. _Now_ he was, without a doubt, intrigued. In fact, this would play out to be an exciting story to tell, a book even.

Fayne shrugged. "I just want to find him. Can you do that?" Her eyes were fervent, probing.

"I'll try, but it will take weeks. A templar is not that easy to find."

She sounded determined. "That's not a problem. All I want is to know where this bastard lurks."

Varric stared at her with a bit of admiration, and couldn't help but to credit that to her stubbornness and resolve. She was one tough woman. A roguish smile spread across his face as he played out his take on this - this will definitely become a story worth telling.

**xxXxx**

That night, Fayne found it to be a tremendous effort to sleep. When she did, strange, blurred images were playing fervent in her mind, causing her whole body to wince, convulse, and twist. The sheets were unkempt, wrapping themselves around her body, dampened by her sweat.

Nightmare was a personification of all that was Aaron.

"No... no..." She twisted once more in her bed, her face wincing in pain as she tried to wake up. Fragments of memories of Aaron's cruelty and vicious anger overwhelmed her. It made it hard for her to breathe. Dreaming about him was a different kind of punishment - silent, impetuous, agonizing, and equally as painful as actual physical punishment.

Yet this dream was different from any other of her dreams that involved Aaron. It portrayed a love/hate relationship. Aaron was kissing her naked body, telling her she was a both a regret and a blessing. He loved her and hated her, he wanted to make love to her and kill her. A thrill of wild, electrifying energy spread through her body, making her skin tingle. In her dream, their relationship was wrong, yet felt so right to their bodies. It allowed them to release the tension they felt, attenuated their pain, and made them forget the outside world.

Alone, panting heavily and sweating, Fayne was breathing his name. Her body squirmed under the invisible body of Aaron, her nails dug into the sheets. Her dream was still holding her, not letting her pull away from it. It was castigating her, showing her the difficulties of getting involved with such a complicated, dark, sick, enthralling man. Aaron was a sin, but a delightful one. He was the kind of man many women would break the rules just to have a taste of him. Lust, anger, rage, every feeling that could be twisted to satisfy a human's desire, meld until one can no longer distinguish love from hate.

A long while passed, until Fayne felt her whole body being pulled away from the dream. She woke up, breathing heavily and sweating as if she were burning with fever. She felt like all of her energy was drained, leaving her almost loose-limbed.

_Where am I?_

She looked around she realized she was in her room and that there were no signs of Aaron. It was all just a dream. She threw the blankets and the sheets off of her, and quickly sat on the edge of her bed. Fayne tried to find some logic to the dream, though it seemed impossible. Even the air in her room seemed to be filled with Aaron's scent as if it was a faint, distant haze and his image was still burned vividly in her mind.

It was indeed a twisted dream, one that would surely keep her awake for the rest of this long, painful night.

**xxXxx**

It had been nearly a month since Fayne asked Varric to trace down Aaron and still no sign of him. Either Varric was doing a terrible job trying to find him or Aaron was doing a brilliant job hiding. After all, the point was for him to find her, not the other way around.

She found herself growing accustomed to the Hanged Man; she even enjoyed the place. The alcohol wasn't much and the food was just terrible. But it was peculiar how in a place like this an uncanny sense of peace could be found. Perhaps because half of the costumers were passed out on the table, and there weren't any curious eyes watching her, or maybe because all taverns look the same everywhere you go. Taking a long sip, she decided the latter assumption was probably the most logical one. After all, all taverns are supposed to make you forget all of your problems, and this one was surely no exception.

Fayne sat alone at a table, almost invisible in the shadowed corner. Her thoughts strayed to Fenris. He offered his services to her just a week ago, after she promised him to help him find his master. The tough rogue did not know what to make of the elf. He was hidden in a haze of mystery, clearly struggling with the invisible chains that were once real and were a small portion of what was once the life of a slave. But Fenris had to be the most enticing elf she'd ever met. His eyes were green, ardent and twinkling with both ire and hope. His hair was snow white, almost like hers, his lyrium marks glowed. His appearance was merely threatening to some and bone freezing, to other, but he was indeed ruggedly handsome. Even his voice was vibrant, virile and arresting. Yet Fayne was sure he was as handsome as he was dangerous, and that inevitably reminded her of Aaron. Indeed there were similarities and even their hatred of mages was no exception. But Aaron's hate was eerie, and inexplicable whereas Fenris' made perfect sense. He had never met a mage who was kind, humble and not trying to buy him, as if he was an object. That, consequently, gave him a distorted view of mages.

As if on cue, when Faye looked at the door, she saw Fenris enter, making her eyes light up with both surprise and delight. It was clear the elf managed completely distract her.

"It is always a pleasure, Fayne," he said, as he sat next to her and smiled heartily. He motioned the bar maid to fetch him a drink and took a seat in Fayne's table.

"How are you?" Fayne asked, showing her concern.

Her voice was soft, tender, and soothing. It has been a long time since the elf had the pleasure to listen to such sweet symphony. He sat back in his chair, his green eyes never leaving hers. "I'm still trying to adjust to this...freedom."

"It will take some time," Fayne said.

"Freedom is difficult to achieve when your past haunts you."

Fayne flinched at such words. In truth, she too knew the feeling of having the past crushing her breath, weighing on her shoulders and haunting her like a ghost.

"Tell me," Fenris urged, catching her attention. "Have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?"

The rogue considered his question for a long while, long enough that Fenris' drink had arrived. Fenris gave the bar maid a polite nod and then turned his attention to Hawke. He didn't rush her, but his eyes were definitely probing for his answer.

"Ferelden is my home. It is where I grew up, but... I don't know..."

"The Blight is over, Fayne. You can rebuild what you've lost."

"I lost a lot of things in Ferelden. Some of them cannot be rebuilt, Fenris."

He immediately recognized that he hit on an open wound, and understood that he was not the only one dealing with troubling memories from their past. Thoughtful, he took a sip of wine. He knew he was not very skilled with words, he knew he could be abrupt sometimes, but this was indeed a woman who stirred a certain curiosity in him. In truth, he wanted to know _everything_ about her.

"Tell me. Why did you want to become an assassin? It is not exactly an honest way of earning money." There was no malice in his tone, only an untiring curiosity.

Faye's lips twitched upwards in a roguish smile, clearly not offended by his statement. "Tell me an honest way of making money in this unforgiving world? We survive the best way we can, Fenris. Your master may think you were dishonest and disloyal when you ran from the Imperium, yet here you stand, thinking that it was the best thing you ever did in your life. Am I right?"

The elf was unable to reply for a moment. There was indeed a certain truth underlying to her words, as painful as it was to admit.

"There is a fine line between good and evil, between what's wrong and right," she continued. "I've become what I am today to save my family. As you know, both my sister and my father were mages and we were always being chased by templars. I had to defend them, protect what was dearest to me. You would have done the same, right?" Fayne asked, cocking her head, watching him curiously.

"I... I don't have a family," Fenris replied sadly, his gaze dropping.

"Your family died?"

"I don't remember, actually," he corrected.

The statement caught Fayne with such surprise that her lips parted in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

He looked down at himself, eyeing his marks. "These marks... They are the first memory I have - the lyrium being carved into my skin, burning like the fire, marking me as a slave. Whatever life I lived before it, it is gone."

"Doesn't it bother you that you can't remember your past?" Fayne was intrigued.

He shrugged. "Sometimes. There are days when I find myself wondering about my real name, about my family. But sometimes it occurs to me that perhaps some things should stay in the past and away from my mind."

"So Fenris is not your real name?"

"No. Fenris was the name that my master used to call me."

Fayne smiled a little. "I rather like that name. It's intriguing."

He chuckled. "Is it now? In Tevinter that means 'wolf'. It meant that I was my master's wolf - his bodyguard."

The rogue finished her drink. "Well, you're nobody's wolf anymore. You are free."

_Free_. The concept was an abstract one. It was an idea, a goal to be reached, though he never really thought that someday he would be allowed to taste it. He was still a bit reluctant when it came to accept that he had indeed run from Tevinter and that his wrists were freed from the chains that caged him for so many years. Yet the absence of metal, rusty chains around his wrists made him believe that he was living a dream, and that eventually he would wake up to find that he was still serving his master. But then he looked at the rogue seated before him. Her unequally beautiful face told him he was not dreaming. This was real, and he will make sure to enjoy this life with every breath and every beat of his heart.

**xxXxx**

An opened window in a fine, large room let in a gentle and mild breeze. The curtains rippled, moving with the wind. The room was decorated with red velvet walls, and the furnishings were made of fine, expensive woods. A large bed stood out, with white satin sheets, and in them there was a man. He was twisting in his bed, taking a great effort to shake the load of images that were haunting his mind. Fayne was in all of them. He couldn't hate her, only admire her. There was an unmistakable intensity, beauty and strangeness about her... Her almost white hair was a beacon, luring him into such a delicacy. They were running in a forest, her laugh rang in his ear. He reached to touch her, but she flinched with cat's grace and an impish smile.

The images in his head shifted and his eyes were pulled toward an almost magical waterfall before him. Fayne was naked, sitting on top of a large boulder, combing her long, pale hair with her delicate fingers. It hung like a think curtain over her breasts, hiding them. She had one leg crossed over the top of the other, hiding her sex. He felt like he was being pulled towards her, as if he was bound by a spell. But when he drew next to her, he saw her crying. A stream of tears coursed down her cheeks. Behind those pearly, green eyes, lurked sadness. He realized that he was the cause. Her right cheek - where he slapped her - was flushed from the hit, and the arm where he dug his fingers was covered in bruises. He couldn't feel hate anymore, instead, he felt repulsed by what he had done to her. He sucked in his breath, as a desire to caress her face stirred inside him.

"I loved you, Aaron. Why did you do this to me?" She asked, her voice carried an otherworldly grace, though still deeply colored by sadness.

Aaron felt his stomach twist in knots, and sorrow gripped his heart so hard it felt like someone thrust a sword through his chest. What his eyes were seeing was an agonizing picture. It was jarring, and before he could have time to bite back his words, he found himself pleading his love to her.

"But I still love you, babe. I still... love you." The last two words were pronounced as he woke up. He was breathing heavily and sweating. It took a long while to catch his breath. He scrambled from the bed, trying to make sense out of the dream. He looked briefly out the window in his room, noticing that the sad, faint light of the moon lighted the room. He didn't know how long he had been dreaming; though the dream felt real enough to keep him awake for the next several hours. He strolled towards the window, only dressed in his trousers. The warm breeze brushed his face, while he contemplated the view of Orlais. Buildings of all sorts stretched into the horizon in every direction. Orlais was as beautiful as it was deadly. He was not very fond of the Orlesian nobles or their lifestyle, yet he _needed_ to be there.

He ran his hands through his hair, considering his dream - considering Fayne. A tumult of feelings took over him, leading to anything but a conclusion. In truth, he loved that woman - once - though he never thought he could still be in love with her.

Was he?

Or was he still delusional from the dream?

He heaved a sigh. Maybe this dark, deadly templar still had love hidden inside of him. Maybe it is because what we love follows us, and does not leave as easily as we thought it would.


	3. Chapter 2

**A big thanks to csorciere, wickexdgames, and to those who are following this story. I hope you like this chapter. And please share your thoughts with me. I would love to hear what you think, and it only takes a few minutes of your time.**

**A big thank to my fantastic beta, Kira Tamarion. You're awesome! :D**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The mirror that stood before him reflected a strikingly elegant but weary looking man. Aaron, no longer in Templar armor, wore a fine, linen white shirt, pitch-black trousers and boots made of imported, expensive leather. But as well dressed as he was, his reflection appeared also reflected his inner turmoil, a struggle with sudden realizations and deeply held beliefs. Fayne was in all of them, it made his heart palpitate, and colored his pain with a bitter taste of regret. He slept very little over the last three days.

A knock on his chamber's door woke him from his thoughts.

"Come in," Aaron allowed.

The door opened to reveal an Orlesian female servant. She was far from pretty, according to Aaron's standards, though he couldn't deny that there was an undercurrent of foreign beauty about her. Her hair was rusty brown, cascading past her shoulders and her eyes were hazel, though they lack the special spark that filled Fayne's.

She wore a polite expression, even though she was enchanted by him. He was utterly handsome, and the more she stared into his eyes, the more she blushed. She couldn't deny that there was something deep and eerie about him, but she was so lost in his striking good looks she didn't give it much thought. Unnerved and embarrassed for staring at him for so long, she cleared her throat. Her voice was low, soft, and humble, as it would be expected from a simple servant.

"_Monsieur_, there is a man here to see you. He says he is interested in your proposal."

Aaron's eyes lit up with delight. "Bring him here," he replied, eagerly. The servant matched his amusement with a polite nod, and parted.

He licked his lips, waiting and anticipating. This should be indeed good news.

A moment later a man stepped inside, unlike the servant, he was neither humble nor timid. His footsteps echoed with determination, and he walked towards him almost as if he owned the place. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief. He was without a doubt a rogue, skilled with arrows. Aaron respected the agile rogue, though he was sure he would beat him in a match. Aaron _always_ won his matches.

"I'm glad you decided to reconsider my offer," Aaron told him, his lips already twitching upwards.

"You ask a lot, yet you offer me a lot," the man countered, happily. He sauntered through the room, scanning every little detail, slightly ignoring Aaron. The Templar did not like the rogue's insolence, but in reminding him that man was here for a good caus, he calmed.

"Of course, how else would I make you accept my proposal?"

The man's face grew tight and he turned sharply at Aaron. His voice was curt. "I accepted your proposal willingly, not because you made me do so."

Aaron didn't like his words. In fact, he didn't like this man. The blood in his veins flowed faster, and he found himself trying to keep his composure. "Either way, you're here because my offer pleases you. I am a prudent man, and I know that my offer matches my proposal."

"Of course," the man replied, brusquely**,** "So, elucidate your terms again."

"Your task is simple, my friend. You must go to the Kirkwall and find a woman - Fayne Hawke. Then, you will keep me posted of her habits, friends - everything. I want to know _everything_ about her. Are we clear?"

The rogue nodded and smile wickedly. "And if I do this...?" He asked, waiting for Aaron to finish his question.

"And if you do this, I will help you avenge your family's murder."

"Good," the man replied, taking no pains to hid the joy that flowed through his veins.

"Inform me when you arrive at Kirkwall. Last time I checked, she had long, silver-blonde hair and green eyes. She shouldn't be hard to find. A woman like her doesn't go unnoticed."

The man stared at him, and Aaron meet his gaze with seemingly equal intensity. He felt that every time he looked at the Templar, he was looking right back at him. The rogue understood that there was more underlying his words than a merely wanting to know where this woman lurked. The rogue recognized the grievous, deep sorrow in the Templar's eyes - Sebastain believed that despite his pain, the Templar's determination to find her seemed to add an edge to his expression. The man knew that, to the Templar, this woman was a lost relic, and he wanted to retrieve her. However, he wasn't fool enough to go after her himself, which left unspoken reasons hovering in the air as mystical haze.

"I will depart for Kirwall right away," the man replied, very conciliatory. He turned to leave, licking his lips at his newly given task.

But Aaron was not quite done with him.

"Oh, I forgot to add something to our little contract," he spoke, stopping the rogue at the doorway. "Do not raise a finger to her, unless you would like to join your parents. See that you treat her well, but not well enough if you know what I mean. She is too precious to have your hands laid upon her. Do I make myself clear, Sebastian Vael?"

Aaron knew his words resonated through the room with a unique intimidation. Sebastian's expression grew very guarded - too much so for Aaron's liking - though the Templar knew he had managed to convey the fact that he would move mountains, if necessary, to kill this man if ever dared to touch Fayne – _his_ Fayne.

"That wouldn't be my intention," Sebastian reassured him.

Aaron laughed at his words. He was a long way from beginning to trust this man. "I would have expected you to understand the weakness of our kind, Vael. We may be tough, ruthless warriors, but we are _weak_. I'm warning you, as a friend, to not give in into your _weakness_ or I'll thrust my sword trough your chest."

Only when Aaron finished his threat did Sebastian notice the flicker of anger in his blue-violet eyes. This man's words were severe, firm, and bold, making the rogue wonder vaguely what kind of woman Fayne was to be so worthy of such protection and devotion.

"May I remind you that I am devoted to the Chantry? I do not dwell on such carnal pleasures."

"The Chantry doesn't feed your hunger, does it? Don't tell me that when you lay your eyes upon a woman you do not feel, not even a tiny, sense of lust coursing through you? Or a little voice inside your heard whispering wicked, unspeakable things?"

Sebastian was about to answer, but found no words to match the truth in Aaron's words. He clenched his teeth, furious that this man managed to read someone's mind in such a frightenly quick manner.

Aaron stood face to face with Sebastian. "Your faith can only provide spiritual peace, but it won't ease your lust, Vael. However, the _right woman_ can feed your desire, can bring you mental and spiritual peace. Trust me, my friend, one day, you'll succumb to your hunger. Just try not to do that with Fayne."

The rogue stiffened. "Are these the words of a Templar? You too vowed to - "

"I make vows to no one, only to myself," Aaron countered before Sebastian had the time to finish.

"Is that why you're looking for this woman, then? So you can be at peace with yourself?"

"I… I don't expect you to understand, Sebastian," Aaron replied.

The Templar's voice was surprisingly quiet and soft, as if for a moment he had changed into another being. But, Sebastian could sense that remorse and sorrow colored his voice. But in truth, Aaron was right. Sebastian could not understand the depth of such feelings because he never had the pleasure, or the agony, of loving a woman, only to lose her to foolishness. He couldn't begin to understand the depths of the bitter, unforgiving sorrow.

Aaron battled to stem the flow of strong memories that flooded his mind. He remembered when he told Fayne he was going to become a Templar. But he was just fooling himself with half-truths, for the life of a Templar brought him anything but peace. His hatred of mages didn't vanish, no, but maybe it has been dampened, possibly asleep in the back of his mind. He wished that he could be alone with his memories, but Sebastian was still in the room.

"Now Sebastian, please leave. See that you don't break our agreement, and inform me when you arrive in Kirkwall." As he motioned him to leave, his voice carried an undercurrent of authority. The ambitious, cunning, determined Aaron had returned.

Sebastian obeyed, wordlessly, and exited the chambers swiftly, leaving Aaron alone with his memories.

**XXXXX**

The grisly, grim scene of undead corpses around them didn't stop Fayne from admiring the landscape of Sundermount. Dark, heavy-looking clouds filled sky, and the rogue and her companions trembled slightly when a single forked lightning bolt rippled before them. There was something, dark, old and sinister about this place, as if Soundermout was shrouded in a mysterious haze that prevented them from seeing what really lurked in the corners of this mountain. Yet, Fayne found it to be fascinating.

She licked her lips. They were standing before an altar.

"We should not keep her waiting," Merrill remembered.

"Of course," Fayne replied, stepping aside.

Varric shot her a doubtful look, but the rogue glared at him telling him to trust her. The whole scene made cold shivers reach his spine. But then he reminded himself that if he managed to survive this encounter, he would have a good addition to his book.

Merrill spoke in Dalish, old, and cryptic words, or in Varric's opinion, gibberish. After a moment, a powerful, whitish light lit the sky bringing along what they soon discovered to be Flemeth. The Witch of the Wilds emerged from the strange light that rippled around her, and in her lips was the most wicked, eerie smile they had ever seen. Her smile hummed quite literally with both power and danger. She was certainly as dangerous as she was beautiful. And it wasn't a common beauty -no, it was an uncanny beauty. She was a woman who could freeze one's heart with just a look.

"Well, well, we meet once again." Her voice cut through the air.

"We made a deal," Fayne replied.

The Witch nodded, conciliatory. "We did. Though I half expected that you wouldn't fulfill your end of the bargain."

"I'm wounded, particularly because that was said by a Witch who did not inform me that _she_ was in the damn amulet."

Her clever tongue was something Flemeth admired, it even amused her. In fact, Fayne reminded her of her daughters. They were beautiful, enthralling, yet their words cut deeper than a pointy sword. Though they were skilled with those, too.

Wicked Flemeth laughed at the top of her lungs. "I see that you still have your smart tongue with you - a useful weapon. But wounded? Oh girl, you don't know what pain is. But you will. Someday."

"You don't know anything about my pain," the assassin hissed.

"I know more about you than you think."

"I highly doubt that," Fayne replied, crossing her arms.

"Do you now, child? Hmm, I always thought there was something different about you, but now I know what it is - you like to deny the undeniable, and to avoid the inevitable. Interesting trait," Flemeth remarked to herself.

"And you like to speak in incomprehensible words," Fayne countered, refusing to accept the undercurrent of truth in her words.

"Just because you don't understand that doesn't mean they are gibberish, child."

Hawke stared at her, oblivious puzzled, but that only evoked a laugh from the Witch's lungs.

"But have no worries, girl. It takes a strong woman to deny what's right in front of her," she poked her long, but surprisingly delicate finger, against her chest. "Or in your case - what's in your heart. You are strong, but that it's also your weakness. It blinds you, and makes you want to deny what you _can't_ deny."

"I'm not denying anything," she replied, though the words didn't come very easily.

"Oh yes you are. You just don't know it, yet." But the Witch cocked her head, slyly, as something occurred to her wicked mind. "Or do you?"

Fayne didn't respond, nor did she blink. A puzzled state seemed to come over her, coursing through her. Flemeth's word were cryptic, even opaque, yet she was sure there was something of great meaning behind them, only she didn't know how to decipher it. With the rogue still bemused, Flemeth smiled, slyly as always, and turned back to stare at the mountains that hung to an unseen, vast horizon.

"I must leave, girl."

"Where are you going?"

"To places you can't even imagine they exist. But before I go - a word of advice," she said, turning to regard the lithe assassin. "We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."

"And what is that suppose to mean? That I should throw myself from a cliff? Or turn into a dragon like you?" The indifference in her tone added to the sarcasm that filled her voice.

Flemeth laughed. "Oh, I don't think I'll ever get tired of your clever tongue. It almost makes me want to stay a little longer. But have no worries, child, for we will meet again."

**XXXXX**

Fayne stood in a place that was far from familiar. It was a large hall that expanded beyond her sight and was too extravagant, colorful, rich, and imposing. She was dressed as if she was to attend a royal ball. A crimson, silk gown covered her shapely legs, and her cleavage drew the attention of the male guests.

Her hair was falling in opulence over her shoulders, breasts and ending at her lower back. It was white, it was shimmering and it was a beacon for every guest in the room. Some eyed her with suspicion, others with an undisclosed interest, and some with lust. Yet, there was something strange about these people... they wore masks, Fayne realized as the images in her mind became somewhat clear. Some of those masks were fancy, colorful whereas some were uncanny and mysterious. And indeed there was something peculiarly, alluring about masks - it almost seemed like they have come to life.

Fayne passed further more through the ample room. A line of mirrors appeared on each side and ran the length of the room. Music was being played somewhere, probably a harp, but the sound was distant. The rogue touched her face, and realized she was too hiding her face beneath a mask. And it made sense, since _everyone_ was hiding their true identity.

Her eyes wandered; she was in awe of liveliness. Then, there was a particular person that stole her attention - a man. Behind her mask, Fayne sensed that the man was glaring at her, as if he was attempting to see through her eyes and beyond. The rogue stopped in her tracks, flummoxed by his stare, but also captivated by him. His mask didn't fully cover his face, leaving his lips and jaw visible. The man's posture hummed with power, elegance and charm. His lips twitched slightly, and in distinctive steps, he moved towards her.

Fayne noticed his lavender, bold, and arresting eyes. He gave her a slight bow, smiling. "Will you dance with me?"

She nodded without thinking, though she was surprised that she literally wanted to dance with him.

He smiled, and put his arm around her waist, leading her through the room.

"You have beautiful hair," he whispered against her ear.

"T-thank you." Fayne's voice was small and trembling.

"Your hands are shaking."

"I-I'm sorry, but I don't dance very well."

"Perish the thought, my lady. You just have to let your body - and your mind - guide you. Like this." he swiftly lowered her back so that he could lean against her. Hawke was overcome with the sensation of falling, but he held her tight. He inhaled sharply her floral scent and Fayne's eyes widened when she saw him coming near her lips. Their lips almost touched - _almost_. He smiled, and brought her back on her heels.

"See? Easy." He ran his surprisingly gentle hand through the length of her spine, touching and caressing her slim and elegant body. Her spine blazed as he made his way down to her derrière, stopping just above. Hawke looked profoundly at him - there was something oddly familiar about him. She tentatively reached for his biceps, and then she stared back into his eyes.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

The man laughed, but didn't reply immediately. They danced a bit more.

"I know _you," _he replied with lavender gleaming eyes.

Fayne stared at him for a long time, as though she couldn't see much more than just faint outlines of his face.

_How does he know me?_

"You know me?

In an unexpected move, he reached for her mask, exposing the soft, delicate lines of her face. It surprised her that she felt so naked without it. They stopped dancing, evoking a low murmur of surprise from the other guests. The mysterious man palmed her face. Fayne suddenly felt a familiar warm sense flowing within her. She flinched a little, but didn't stop him.

"Has it been so long that you don't recognize me, Fayne?"

The rogue hesitated, overcome with a sense that she has met this man. That sense was more pronounced, her eyes gazed down from his eyes to his lips. Those lips... she has kissed them, taste them.

_What do they taste like?_

No, no, it can't be... Fayne tried to block an unsettling realization. She looked up at him, and there was a smile of impish desire in his eyes.

_That look... That flaming, desire-filled stare... It's familiar, yet vague._

"You don't recognize me?" He asked again.

And before she could answer, he took hold of her hand, leading her fingers to his mask.

"Take it," he ordered softly.

Fayne hesitated, her willpower being consumed by this enigma. But the man gripped her hand again, and this time he helped her remove the mask from his face. It sank to the floor, leaving his ruggedly handsome lines exposed.

Shock came into her eyes. "...A-Aaron?"

There was a surprising tenderness in his eyes. He brushed her lips with his fingers, and she shuddered slightly. "We were apart for too long."

The rogue seemed not to understand him. "Too long?"

"Let's not fight again. Stay with me, Fayne. Forever - for an eternity," he pleaded so softly.

Yet again Fayne didn't understand him. "An eternity? With you? You said you would kill me." Her voice seemed to be so far away.

Aaron smiled and pulled her closer to him.

Faye woke up with the feeling of Aaron's lips brushing softly against hers.

So went another night tinged with strong images of Aaron. They refused to leave her mind, and they seemed to get more real each night.

**XXXXX**

Upon Sebastian's arrival in Kirkwall, he inhaled the fresh, salty air of the harbor. He examined with purpose at the architecture, the people, the haze of a faith once lost. It was no mystery to him that mages - willful, untamable mages - lurked within the city walls.

The arctic breeze of the night brushed his face, cutting like a sharp blade, making his breath steam under the moonlight. He would have to find a place for the night. Sebastian heard about a very infamous tavern, and at the lack of any better alternatives, he was making his way towards it.

_Fayne Hawke. Her name is Fayne Hawke._ He kept repeating that to himself, as he trotted through the streets. He shouldn't - and couldn't - forget her name. His bones were almost frozen, for the cold air was unforgiving during the winter. But a sudden, and welcome, flood of warmth embraced his body when he stepped inside the Hanged Man. He walked to the counter, slapped some coins onto the surface, and ordered a drink. He examined his surroundings, thoughtfully. It occurred to him that if this woman didn't go unnoticed around here, then maybe the patron knew something about her. Also, he needed a room for the night, and a way to send Aaron a message informing him of his arrival.

"I'm looking for a woman," Sebastian said, as the patron poured his drink on a mug.

The man laughed. "Aren't we all?"

"You misunderstand me. I'm looking for a _specific_ woman."

"And does this _specific _woman has a_ specific_ name?"

"Fayne Hawke," the rogue replied, though he missed the stares upon him that pronouncing her name triggered.

"Are you looking for trouble, boy?" The patron asked, frowning.

"I need to find her. "

"Then you are looking for trouble," the patron insisted, slamming the clay mug onto the table.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, and his face grew tight. "I don't care about the trouble. I _need_ to know where she is."

The man rolled his eyes, and heaved a sigh. But just in cue, Varric showed up, coming from his room.

"Ah! There he is," the patron called to him. "This boy here is looking for Fay. Why don't you give him some _directions_?"

Sebastian noticed that Varric's smile was as sly as his bearing. He eyed the dwarf, warily.

"You're looking for Fayne?" Varric asked.

"Yes. Do you know where I can find her? I promise I won't take much of her time."

Varric laughed. "Do we look like guides?"

His words evoked a collective, genuine laugh from all the tavern's costumers. Sebastian found that uncomfortable, even embarrassing, for he had just been mocked by a dwarf. Though for the sake's of his_ contract_, he steeled himself. He remembered that Aaron told him she had almost white hair, and it occurred to him that a woman with such features could be easily found. They might even bump on each other during the day and, of course, the idea pleased the rogue.

He finished his drink in one gulp. He geared up to leave, but Varric caught his arm. Sebastian noted that the roguish smile never actually left his lips, and something told him that the dwarf was plotting something.

"Well, well, it's seems like this is your lucky day," Varric said, pointing to the doorway.

In a blink, Sebastian spun to look at the doorway. His lips slightly parted in disbelief. At the threshold stood Fayne Hawke - or at least, he thought it was her.

Her silver-blonde hair was the first thing he noticed. It gave her an almost celestial aura, and her stare was intense, as if she were looking right through him. She wore high, brown leather boots that accentuated her shapely legs, beige leggings, and a white blouse. The cut of her blouse was not low, though he could clearly see that he had been blessed in that area. Her hair of unique color cascaded past down her shoulders, almost down to her bottom.

"Hey!" Varric called to her. "There is someone here looking for a Fayne Hawke," he shouted mockingly.

As she advanced up to him, Sebastian noticed a shinny, exotic, dagger on her belt. The blade was wickedly sharp and powerful, as if it was made to please her refined taste.

Fayne licked her lips. "Is he now? Then let's not disappoint him."

Sebastian found her voice colored with cynicism, very much to his surprise, given that her appearance was graceful and uniquely beautiful.

"Who are you?" Fayne asked, cocking her head. Her eyes were studying him pointedly.

"Sebastian Vael. Are you Fayne Hawke?"

"Who's asking?"

"I am. I've heard a great deal about her skills as - "

Faye shot him a cold look. "I doubt that's why you're here."

Her fingers played with her dagger, while she considered him. He was lying, and he was very bad at it. She leaned against him so that he could feel her hot breath. Her malachite colored eyes were sparkling, and in a heartbeat, she flashed her dagger near to him, so that his throat met the cold tip of metal. Sebastian gulped, wreathed in fear.

"Who's looking for me? And if you tell me that it's you again, I will lose my patience."

In truth, she had little time for errand boys like him. And it didn't take a very bright person to understand that someone sent him to go look for her.

Her ardent, stormy eyes stole the breath from his lungs and the words from his mouth. He was never a good liar, he couldn't tell her that it was Aaron, but he couldn't kill his way out of there either. Aaron made it very clear he wanted Fayne alive, and preferably untouched by Sebastian. The rogue found himself cornered, running out of options. He needed more time to find a way out of this mess.

He shrank, holding up his hands in defense. "Perhaps we can speak somewhere private."

Fayne cocked her head, and shot him a shrewd look. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"No, no!" The rogue almost screamed, when he felt the tip of metal sting in his throat.

"Then _who_ sent you?" She burrowed in the tip just a little more. A small stream of blood ran down his throat from where the point of her dagger had stung him.

Varric noticed that there was something uncanny about Fayne. Maybe this was the assassin hidden within her – make this man experience a torturous pain, pressuring him until she pried the words from his mouth, without killing the poor prey. The dwarf licked his lips – he liked this hidden side of her.

Her face took a feverish, stormy look - her patience was at the very limit. And to match that, a look of panic took over Sebastian's face.

"Give me a name!" Fayne urged.

"A-Aaron! Aaron Coste!" Sebastian blurted out, before he had time to bite back the words.

Fayne's dagger fell to the floor, as she was taken aback by his confession. Varric looked at her, and saw her eyes wide with horror.

* * *

**_It takes a strong man to deny what's right in front of him_**. **– Spec Ops: The Line**


	4. Chapter 3

_**A big thanks to csorciere, NoMadKa, rubicante59, and to those who are following and/or favorite this story. Your feedback is greatly appreciated! :)**_

_**A special thanks to my wonderful beta, Kira Tamarion ;) Please head over to her profile and read her amazing stories, you will not regret.**_

_**Waves of inspirations came to visit me as I wrote this chapter, and here it is the result. I hope you're enjoying Aaron, and his confused mind. I know I am! ;) **_

_**Reviews and critiques are always welcome!**_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Sebastian led his hand to his throat and it came away bloody. He mumbled something under his breath, and looked at Varric.

"How long do I have to stay here?"

"As long as it's necessary," Varric replied flatly. He turned to Fayne who was pacing, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was as if she couldn't hear and see him – she was disconnected from reality. And the dwarf didn't blame her – after all, it was not every day that a ghost from the past came back to haunt you – or in Fayne's case – to_ hunt_ her.

Her stomach twisted in knots, her mind awash with memories of Aaron. Hawke didn't know what to make of this, but if someone had the answers, it would be Sebastian. She turned her eyes to him.

The archer was sitting on a chair, dreading what the assassin's look implied. He vaguely wished he had never made this _contract_ with Aaron. Now he had two dangerous would-be-enemies to deal with – Fayne and Aaron. But his thoughts were rapidly cut off by Fayne's glare. This woman was gorgeous, but truly dangerous. Under her gaze he moved uncomfortably in his seat.

"Why did Aaron send you? What does he want?" Fayne asked, walking back and forth, but without breaking contact with the rogue's blue spheres. Her arms crossed and a smoldering menace burning within her green eyes.

"I think he wants_ you,_ my lady. He -"

Fayne narrowed her eyes at him, holding his tongue. "Impossible." She put her hands on her hips, her expression doubtful. "Either you're too stupid to understand his motives or you're lying."

"Trust me, my lady. I'm not lying. This man would draw the blood of a thousand men, just to keep you… safe."

Fayne laughed bitterly at what she thought to be another lie coming from Sebastian's lips. "Safe? Such charity from Aaron requires a celebration, yes?"

The archer didn't understand the reason for her sarcastic words. "This man threatened to kill me if I touched you. He said you were... too precious."

Fayne paused in her tracks; sarcasm gave way to confusion. This... this was not what she expected to hear. "No..." She shook her head, disbelieving. The rogue believed this to be a trick, a game that Aaron was playing with her. But...what if it wasn't? As Sebastian's words sank in, part of her wanted to believe them. She wanted to believe that could still be a ray of love inside Aaron. Fayne stepped back as a myriad thoughts whirled in her mind.

Varric moved closer to Fayne when he noticed her expression change. "You don't believe him?"

"What he's saying it's... impossible. Years ago Aaron promised to kill me over this... stupid thing," she whispered, glancing at Sebastian to make sure he couldn't hear them.

Varric spoke softly, "I think it's very clear he's not very good at lying. Did it ever occur to you that he may be speaking the truth? And why does he want to kill you, anyway?"

"It's a long story," Fayne replied. She took a deep breath, after she realized that she was having trouble breathing. Then, she glanced doubtfully at Sebastian.

"I need to know everything Aaron told you. Every word. And if I sense that you're lying -"

"You'll kill me. I get it." Sebastian replied, already holding up his hands in defense like he did when the nimble, wicked assassin pricked his throat with her razor sharp dagger.

The assassin narrowed her shimmering eyes. "Good." She drew up a chair and took a seat, her elbows on her knees. "Start talking."

Sebastian swallowed hard, before attempting to speak. "A few weeks ago, Aaron told me to come to Kirkwall to look for you. He said he wanted to know everything about your new life – "

"So he sent you to spy on me," Fayne immediately said.

He hesitated, then he came to the realization that 'spy' was indeed the appropriate word, though he never actually considered himself one. "Yes, my lady," he replied conciliatorily.

"Why?" Fayne pressed.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "He just told me he needed to know _everything_ about you. Though he warned me not to touch you."

The assassin cocked her head. "Not to touch me? In what way?"

"In… every way, my lady."

"Did he say why?"

"Because you were too precious."

The assassin considered his words for a moment. They sank in slowly, striking close to her heart. "And where is Aaron?" Fayne asked after a long pause.

"He's in Orlais, my lady."

The assassin looked at Varric and they exchanged curious glances.

"What's he doing in Orlais?"

"I don't know. But I would say it's something of great importance. He's in Val Royeaux, and he's staying at the most expensive inn in the city. "

Hawke considered his words for a long while. Val Royeaux was the city that proudly held the heart of the Chantry – the seat of the Divine, the home of the Templars. One cannot simply be there by coincidence. And just like Sebastian said - something of great importance must be happening. The assassin turned her eyes to Sebastian's – he seemed to be telling the truth.

"What's your name, _spy_?"

"Sebastian Vael, my lady."

"From the Vael family," Fayne commented with arched brows.

"Y-yes, my lady, though – "

"Leave. But don't go too far. I might need your help," she replied, ignoring what words he was about to say. She had little interest in his family, and she already knew what she needed to know – their family had been brutally murdered and he had being exiled. The rogue bit her lower lip, mindfully. Everything made sense now – Aaron must have persuaded Sebastian with a promise of helping him avenge his family. He was still the same keen, cunning, artful man, clearly willing to do _anything_ to satisfy his needs.

Sebastian nodded, and left very conciliatory, thought Hawke didn't bother to look at him.

When he was gone, Varric moved to Fayne, who dropped her gaze. The rogue was immersed in her thoughts, completely disconnected from her surroundings. The dwarf came to realize this was not the first time that she went into a trance after speaking of Aaron. It was as if his name triggered something inside her or touched a delicate, painful part inside of her life.

"Do you trust him?" Varric heard himself ask. He was referring to Sebastian.

For a moment, it seemed like Fayne couldn't hear him. Then, as if she rose from the dead, she turned to face him with a sly glare. "No. But Aaron seems to. And I will use that in my benefit."

"How?"

"Let us be patient," she replied while leaving his room.

* * *

However, Fayne was far from being patient, and Maker knew that she had no clue of what do.

The nimble rogue sat on her windowsill, her head rested on her knees. A relentless, freezing rain fell from the dark sky of Kirkwall. Thunder roared and rattled her bones. In her right hand, she toyed with her favorite dagger, while she relived her memories of Aaron. The thought of him touched a painful place inside of her; it struck close to her heart. Sebastian's words intruded.

_"This man would draw the blood of a thousand men, just to keep you… safe."_

_"This man threatened to kill me if I touched you. He said you were... too precious."_

Fayne shook those thoughts from her mind; she was a long way to even begin to understand Aaron. In retrospect, the rogue never actually understood his actions – why did he hate mages so much? Why did he hit her? There was always a cloud of mystery around him, and after all these year, it was there still there.

The assassin tried to hold herself together, though it was seemingly impossible as a little voice in the back of her head kept whispering to her that she should travel to Orlais. When she hard Vael speak so impressively of Aaron's devotion to her, there was a momentary glimpse of... love.

Fayne grunted and threw the dagger away; it landed with a sharp clatter.

The assassin left the sill of her window and began pacing through the room in a mechanical movement, like she always did when something unsettled her. With the exception of the sound of the rain pouring heavily on the streets, her room was dark and quiet. She breathed deeply. Boiling inside of her was a mysterious, restless want to see him. While there were a myriad reasons she should not got to him, she couldn't care less about them.

She stopped and stared at her reflection in the mirror, though she could barely see anything. Another bolt of lightning split the sky, and momentarily cast light on her image in the mirror. Fayne stared at her reflection; her hair tousled, wet, dripping, and her clothes soaked. The night was cold, and its freezing temperature penetrated her bones. But as she stared at her image, she realized that she was overwhelmed by the absence of something. She wasn't quite sure of what it was. She craved for anything that would make her feel alive, that would drag out of this hollow life. Perhaps a kiss, a whisper of love, a soft warm body pressed against her or simply... _Aaron_.

"No," Fayne grunted, making her way to her bed.

The rogue refused to accept that her heart was yearning for Aaron. After undressing, she curled up in her wooden, small bed; her arms folded under her head, and the warm, fur blankets covered her freezing body. While she attempted to sleep, the rogue vaguely wondered what Aaron was doing at the moment. But before she had the time to poison her mind with further thoughts about him, she was asleep.

* * *

The moon was mounting the sky in Val Royeaux.

Aaron was seated at the edge of his bed, staring profoundly at the cityscape. Orlais' beauty seemed to be stuck in his mind, and he could no longer remember Ferelden's landscapes, trees, birds or anything. The only thing remotely related to Ferelden he managed to remember was Fayne.

His toned, slightly bronze chest was bathed in the dim moonlight. His mind was alive with thoughts about Fayne. No letters have arrived from Sebastian, making him wonder briefly if the archer had succeeded in his task or if he betrayed him. Yet the latter didn't come as a surprise – Sebastian was weak.

A knock on the door drew him from his thoughts.

"It is Carmen,_ monsieur_," a soft voice replied from the other side. Carmen was the servant that brought his food, washed his clothes, and watched him with utter lust-filled eyes. She was also an elf.

Aaron heaved a rueful sigh. "Come in."

The girl opened the door and peeked innocently at him. In her hands, she carried a bottle of Orlesian wine, as well as his diner. In the plate seemed to be eggs, smashed potatoes, carrots, sprouts and a delicious roasted chicken.

Aaron forced a smile, and rose up.

Carmen almost dropped the content of her hands when he saw him bare-chested looking tantalizingly handsome. She sized him up, with an unmasked impish desire in her eyes. Her gaze stopped at the loose, linen trousers that hung from his lean hips. Immediately, her infatuation spread within her._ Maker, looking at this man must be a sin_!

It took a while before she was able to speak.

"I-I brought you something to eat. And drink," she said, flashing the bottle in front of him. But the girl didn't receive an enthusiastic response. Aaron merely gave her a melancholic smile that matched the sadness that seemed a constant presence in his glimmering blue eyes, eyes in which she could easily drown.

"You look sad," she commented, crossing the room, and laying down his dinner on a small table. When she turned to look at him, Aaron was glaring at her with cold eyes, sending a freezing shiver down her spine. There seemed to be a smoldering anger burning within him.

Her voice was anything but steady. "I-I'm sorry, _monsieur_. I didn't mean to disrespect you."

Aaron did not reply immediately. He watched her warily, like he always did. Then, "No. I'm the one who should apologize. "Please," Aaron motioned for her to sit. He watched her with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Carmen took a seat on his bed, and Aaron did likewise, though careful not to be too close to her.

"I guess I should thank you for bringing me dinner," he muttered.

"Oh," she waved a hand. "It's no bother, really. You always seem so... distant, so I thought I should bring you something warm. Orlais is a beautiful country; you should go out and explore what this city has to offer. A man like you wouldn't have problems having fun."

Her hazel orbs were shining, and there was a whisper of a grin on her lips. Aaron narrowed his eyes – it was a reflex movement - and studied the girl pointedly. Evidently, she knew something he didn't, and she clearly had ulterior reasons for being in his room.

"Thank you, Carmen. That's... nice of you," he replied, flatly.

The elf was not pleased by the lack of warmth in his tone. He was cold, eerie, and distant, like his mind seemed to be flooded with things in the past rather than the present. But amidst all that isolation, he was still utterly handsome – even more, to the elf. He was in his own bubble, struggling with something she could not identify. Aaron was enrapturing, handsome, dangerous, skilled but... sad._ Yes_, Carmen remarked to herself, feeling victorious – Aaron was sad and unhappy, almost as if his life was bitter and there was nothing he could do to sweeten it.

"I'm sorry, but... Don't you like my presence?" She asked innocently, her voice filled with the sweetness and warmness of a girl so young and...beautiful, in her own way, though her beauty was nothing compared to Fayne's enrapturing eyes, shimmering white-blonde hair or her full, round, red lips. Carmen had a round, somewhat pretty face, a pug nose, and her cheeks were slightly freckled. Her lips, thin and small, and her voice had to be the most annoying sound he had ever listened to.

Aaron looked at her, and she stared back at him, pleadingly.

"We barely know each other, Carmen. I can't say if I like your presence or not," he said. But in truth, Aaron _did_ know the answer – and yes, he disliked her presence – not in a personal way, but solely because she wasn't Fayne.

A wicked little grin curled up her lips. "Then maybe we should get to know each other." She slid her bottom, very suggestively, bringing her body close to him. His smell was rich and fresh; it was a mixture of soap, and leather.

For the first time in a very long time, he moved uncomfortably in his seat. His thoughts spun in a many different ways. He looked at her; she was very slim and small – unlike him. And she was so different than Fayne – in every aspect of the word. "What do you want, Carmen? He asked, and anger still burned in his eyes.

The girl blushed when she realized he understood _perfectly _the meaning of her words. Carmen knew she was far from being considered stunningly beautiful, yet she couldn't understand the motives that would drive a man to refuse a woman when she was so temptingly willing to open her legs for him. Was he refusing her? She couldn't follow him.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she excused herself. "I'm just saying that I would like to know you better."

The girl, ever so innocently, moved her lips towards his. She vaguely wondered what they tasted like, right before she _tasted_ them. Her tongue thoroughly explored his – his mouth was so deliciously good and wet. The elf thought it utterly marvelous as she drank him in and explored every inch of his mouth. Their tongues tangled in an exotic, passionate dance. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, her skin tingled, and all of her deep muscles were contracting. _This man tastes like a forbidden fruit._ She pulled away just a little so that she could bite at his so inviting lower lip. A guttural, strained groan rose from the depths of his lungs, but when the girl went right back at him – something was wrong.

Carmen's eyelids fluttered open to see the perpetually mysterious man. His eyes were open, even alert, and his strong hand clasped her fragile neck.

"A-Aaron?" What're you doing?" The girl asked alarmed.

"Stop," Aaron warned her with fury in his stormy, eyes. "What do you want of me, Carmen? And for your sake, don't play games with me."

Carmen reached for the hand that was grasping her neck, only to realize he was showing no signs of releasing her so soon. "I want... I hate seeing you so sad, so nonchalant - "

"My sadness is my own business, not yours," he said harshly.

"I want to sleep with you, don't you see it?" Carmen barked, as if she had risen from the dead. "Maker, I want to take you to places darker that the darkness itself! I want to feel you deep – "

"Stop!" Aaron warned, his wide eyes and voice were so relentless and sharp that they rattled her bones. The elf gulped slightly, rooted in fear, having realized that his grip was making the process of breathing and swallowing more difficult. He released her neck, when he noticed she was seeking air.

He swiftly rose, and began to pace through the room. He bit his lip where Carmen had nibbled it, and frowned. He appeared to be deep in thought. The girl watched him warily, though still mesmerized by his beauty. She just couldn't refrain from admiring his strikingly handsome looks. He ran his hands through his dark hair, and heaved a deep breath. He seemed to be struggling with something that the elf didn't understand. Sex was something one shouldn't give much thought, so why was Aaron so transfixed by this? The girl stood up, surprised that her knees were quaking like if the ground beneath her was lurching. He was still pacing through the room, and his breath hinted that he was exasperated. He appeared to have fallen into a trance. Carmen walked towards him in the steadiest manner that her quivering knees allowed, and she reached for his hand. He stopped, as if he had awakened from a deep sleep and glared at her with his bewitching blue orbs. For the first time, it occurred to her that perhaps it would be wise to leave the room and, most importantly, _leave_ him. It was clear, though too late for her own good, that this was a man no one should defy.

Carmen was about to speak, when he spoke over her. "You don't want this. I'm not your type, and you wouldn't want to live with the worst of me. Now leave."

"Oh, but I do want – "

He grabbed her by the wrists, holding her in place. "I. Don't. Want_. _You."

Carmen stared at him blankly – the statement was jarring. _He doesn't want me! _Then, something stirred deep inside her – rage spinning in a hundred different ways. She frowned, and her voice was colored with utter disappointment and indignation. "You – you don't want me? Why?"

"Because..." _Because she wasn't Fayne, simple_. "There is no need for a reason, Carmen," he replied after a long pause.

"But..." The girl couldn't even finish her sentence; she was shaken.

And Aaron... well, he didn't know what to feel. His heart was empty, and if there was a person who could fill it, it was Fayne. His moral compass was whispering in the back of his head that this was no way to treat Carmen. But then it occurred to him – when had he ever treated someone nicely? Probably Fayne, though not for long, since he' hit her. He hit her in the most dark, grim, and sad day of his life – a day where hate rose up to bury the love he felt for her.

After a long while, his eyes widened in shock when he realized he was gripping the girl's wrists with more strength than was needed. Alarmed, and no longer drowned in his thoughts, he immediately released her arms. He turned his back, as if ashamed. He inhaled through his teeth.

"Leave," he ordered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The girl didn't move, being clearly wreathed in dread, but looked down at her wrists – they were crimson and throbbing from Aaron's grip.

"Leave, Carmen. _Now_."

When the girl didn't respond or move, rage rose up from the depths of his stomach, and he screamed from the top of his lungs, "Get the fuck out of here!"

Carmen winced as if she rose from the dead, and left – slowly first, then she began to run.

When the elf was gone, Aaron curled up in a, quiet corner of his room. His thoughts were slipping back to memories of Fayne. As always, they struck close to his heart. He didn't know how he had allowed himself to hit her, to leave her without an explanation or an apology. He ran his hands through his hair. He even promised to kill her! And his last words to her were stabbing at his thoughts, crushing his breath, torturing him.

He folded his arms around his body, he felt so cold without her skin or her kisses to warm him. The world looked so dark, so ungrateful, and he was forsaken and desolate. But maybe this was his punishment, biting hard on his heart, if it was, Aaron couldn't remember a more severe, bitter torture than this. And Aaron had seen many be tortured in the Circle – one more thing that kept him awake during the night.

He leaned his head against the wall, fixing some random spot in the floor, both his hands in his hair. He had been struggling with this realization for a long time, maybe even since the day he left Fayne, though throughout these years he has been fooling himself with half-truths, illusions, promises of a righteous life, and deceptions. But Aaron couldn't find the strength or the willpower to fight them back, he had fought them for too long, and now it was the time to yield, for he hadn't just lost a battle, he'd lost the war.

He heaved a rueful sigh. He'd never stopped loving Fayne – _ever_.

* * *

In a dark alley of the Val Royeaux's streets, a cloaked woman stood in the shadows. A hood concealed her face, and a long, lilac cloak camouflaged her clothes. The woman watched the shadows in the streets moving in a hundred different ways. Her eyes were vigilant, and her hand rested on her staff that would certainly keep her safe through the night. She knew, very well, that the city saw her with unkind eyes, much less merciful. Yet, the risks of being there would soon prove to be worthwhile. At least, it was expected to.

A shadow walking in long, quick strides was drawing near her, catching the woman's attention in just a blink. The darkness eclipsed the stranger's face, and fear rose up inside her. Immediately, her hands gripped her staff – it was a reflexive move. But her lips curled up with satisfaction when the stranger's face became clear.

"I expect you bring me good news, Carmen" the woman said, eagerly.

Carmen breathed deeply before attempting to speak. "I- Hum... Well, things didn't go as I, we, expected."

Her face grew very tight. "What went wrong?"

The girl lowered her head. "He didn't... he didn't want me," she confessed.

"Why not?" The woman asked, exasperating rising in her voice.

"I don't know. I tempted him, I kissed him... and he wouldn't have me. It was like his mind was in a different place."

"A different place, you say?" The woman asked. She remembered that her contacts had informed her that Aaron had once been in love with a woman whose hair was almost as white as snow._ That woman must still be in his thoughts_, the mage remarked to herself.

"You should try harder," she pressed.

"But I don't know what else to do! He almost choked me! And look at this!" She flipped back her sleeves. The mage's blue eyes widened at the sore, bruised wrists.

"He did this to you?" Her voice seemed to be so far away, as if she was losing her strength to digest this unsettling news.

Carmen solemnly nodded.

"So there is no chance that he would want to see you again?"

The elf lowered her head in response.

The mage plunged deep into thought, though careful not to show that she had ulterior motives. Regardless of the motives, Carmen had just proved herself to be useless at the task of seeing her wish fulfilled. This woman waited twenty-eight years for this day, and she had nearly expected Carmen to succeed at what she thought to be a simple task. Apparently, she would have to change the rules of her little game. Aaron's heart and this stupid thing called 'love' were hindering her plans, but it was just a matter of adjustment – she would have to plot this according to the circumstances. And, on cue, the girl whose hair was white as snow came to her mind again – maybe this girl can talk with him.

When the woman's wicked mind finally found a solution, she glared at the elf. "I don't need your services, anymore."

Carmen dared to affront her. "But you need me! I'm the only girl in this city that managed to speak with him."

"Yes, and you have done a terrific job at it," the woman replied sardonically.

"If you ask me, I don't think Aaron is very fond of women. Maybe that's his problem," Carmen countered.

"But no one asked you, my dear," the woman quickly countered with a sly grin playing on her lips. "But if you ask me," she added, "I don't think you're very pretty _or_ smart enough. Maybe _that's_ the problem."

The elf's round face grew tight. "You're dead wrong about Aaron. He's not the kind man you think – "

The woman narrowed her eyes, much like Aaron used to do, and grabbed the elf's throat, pressing her against the wall. "Do not speak another word about him, you wench. Are we clear?"

The elf stared at the woman's fiery, blue orbs, and the way they shinned dangerously, reminded her of Aaron's. _Holy shit! _The girl squirmed and writhed, her breath slowly dissipated from her lungs.

The woman shot her a long, piercing gaze. "Such disrespectful words coming from an obnoxious little thing like you. Tell me, wench, do you want me to put an end to your existence? You know I can break your little neck."

The elf slightly shook her head, though she was too immobilized to make that movement more pronounced.

"Good," the mage replied with a wide, evil grin. She released her neck so suddenly that the girl fell to the floor.

"Now we just need to find this lovely snow white girl," the woman said to herself, passing by the elf with utter indifference.

* * *

Fayne was in her bed, twisting, squirming in the sheets. Her arms moved in a hundred different ways, her head bounced to the sides. This was a dance that was becoming familiar to her each night.

_The rogue and Aaron were running in the woods. There was fresh_ _blood on their faces, as well as a good amount of it dyeing their clothes crimson. She couldn't tell if it was theirs, because the goal was to run_ – _run, and never look back. Branches exploded in every direction, scraping their faces and their limbs along their way. It was night, and the moonlight barely managed to break through the trees. They kept the pace for as long as their legs allowed, then they paused, gasping for breath. Aaron looked back to make sure no one was following them._

_"I don't think anyone_ – _"_

_He stopped and cocked an ear. Fayne stood at attention too, though she was more tired and exhausted than Aaron. The sound of measured footsteps coming in their way echoed faintly in their ears. Fayne and Aaron traded glances and his hand was instinctively on his sword. The rogue, however, was stripped from any cutting instrument, and she wore a thin, ivory tunic that ended at her knees, leaving her almost naked to any attack. Her legs had scratches, her lips dry, cracked and her knees quaking._

_"Don't move," he warned Fayne. He drifted in every direction with keen eyes, and sharp ears, trying to discern where this foe was moving, though soon to discover that they weren't sharp enough._

_Out of nowhere, a woman materialized; in her hand, a common, poorly made dagger. She charged with a bull's fury against Fayne, and before the rogue could attempt to dodge, she plunged the blade in her stomach. The thrust was deep, hard, raw and with purpose. The woman looked deeply into her eyes, grinned, and drew the blade with a frigidity that cut as deeper as the dagger. She wore a devilish expression, pronounced by a mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes. Her long, gray hair danced in line with the wind, the low moon behind her_ – _for a moment, she resembled to a ghost._

_Aaron's eyes flew wide, howling in dismay_ – _he wasn't even given the chance to save her. Fayne blinked, and they kept their eyes on each other. A voice in his head telling, ordering, to do something, but his muscles refused to obey. The rogue closed her eyes for a beat and then her eyelids flutter open. The evidence of her impending death shown in the blood flowing from her mouth, and the spreading stain of it on her tunic. The rogue moved her hand to her stomach, sobbing and coughing, her dying breath rattled Aaron's bones._

_The rogue felt that she was being pulled to a dark, unfamiliar, cold place. Darkness soon eclipsed her last ray of life, and with her last breath, she tumbled sidelong to the ground._

_Aaron yelled, "No!"_

Fayne bolted up in the bed screaming.

* * *

_**If you're all wondering who the mysterious, cloaked woman is, you'll just have to keep following my story! :D I promise you'll not regret, its a major twist, trust me.**_


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